Seized Opportunity
by KatieTaylor
Summary: Part Three of the Opportunity Series - Steve finally seizes an opportunity. This time with Danny's help. This time, it's a lifeline. A/N - Where the first two in this series were mostly streams of consciousness that came to me all at once, this one is more of a story that I had to actually think about and work on. This story will be the last in the series, but has multi chapters
1. The Revelation

Danny feels like an ass. He definitely should not have stormed out of Steve's hospital room like that on Friday. But he was tired after the long flight and staying up to watch over Steve as his friend slept. He'd had to leave before one of them said something they would truly regret, they woke up the rest of the ward, or Steve popped his stitches. Probably all three.

But Danny knew they were both worse than injured animals, attacking each other when they were scared or sad or angry. He should have just cooled off in the hall while the nurses checked Steve over and gone back in. Instead, he hadn't seen his friend since then, and then the idiot had checked himself out of the hospital later that day – because of course Danny had to put that idea in his head – and had Lou drive him home. They'd had no leads or new cases over the weekend. Now it was Sunday afternoon and, not hearing from Steve since the hospital, Danny's making the first move by going over to the beach house.

He pulls up in the empty driveway. Danny cuts the engine and walks up to the door, trying the handle. It's unlocked, but when he steps through, the McGarrett home is silent and dim, the drapes in the living room closed. He moves farther into the room and after a few steps, something crunches under his feet.

Danny looks down. Shards of glass litter the floor around several plastic and wooden frames. They still hold onto the familiar photos Danny remembers from every other visit to this house. Photos of the Team, of Danny and Grace, and then Danny and Grace and Charlie. Older photos of the McGarrett family. He looks up to the shelf they had once adorned, sees a hole in the wall next to it about the size of Steve's fist.

His hand flies to his hip in case the intruder is still in the house. Except he hadn't brought his gun with him. Shit. Is Steve all right? Can he not catch a break?

"There's no one else here, Danny."

Danny whirls around toward the familiar, if tired, voice. "Jesus fucking Christ, McGarrett. You wanna gimme a heart attack?"

Steve's stretched out on the couch, an arm covering his eyes, not even turned toward Danny. The blond watchs him for a few moments, but his friend makes no other acknowledgement of his presence. He moves to the window.

"What' s with the dungeon, huh, buddy? I mean, I thought you got all your super powers from our yellow sun or whatever."

He tosses the curtains open, letting the bright Hawaiian sun tumble into the room. Steve grunts even though, when Danny looks over his shoulder, his partner's arm is still covering his eyes. He looks back over at the shelf and sees the finest film of dust where the photos had once been. They hadn't been there for a while. A dirty shirt's tossed over the banister. Books and few broken knick knacks are strewn across the floor on the other side of the room. There's even a fucking knife embedded in the opposite wall, next to another fist hole.

An empty glass sits on the coffee table, next to Steve's anti-rejection med pack. Danny doesn't see the antibiotics or pain meds anywhere that he knows had been prescribed after Steve's latest escapades. A crumpled envelope and a letter on white Naval letterhead lay haphazardly on the floor next to the table. He approaches the couch, crouches down next to Steve's head to pick up the papers and, yeah maybe be a bit rude, figure out what it says.

"Don't," the body on the couch says.

Danny does anyway, skimming enough to get the gist. And maybe he adds a few more creases to the abused papers as he tosses them on the table, closing his eyes and hanging his head for a moment. The letter was dated a week before Danny'd left for Jersey. Enough time for Steve to have told him if he'd wanted to.

"What are you doing here, Danny? Come to check on your liver? It's fine, I promise."

He takes the hand splayed across his friend's stomach. Steve tenses, but doesn't pull away. Danny laces their fingers together and pulls it closer. With his free hand, he runs the tips of his fingers briefly across Steve's jaw. His usual scruff is beginning to morph into a beard. He takes the hand acting as a shield and pulls it away from his face. Steve's eyes are closed but after a moment, he opens them and finally looks at Danny, turning his whole body and wincing as he does so.

"Hey," Danny says, rubbing his thumbs across Steve's knuckles. "Let me get you something to eat. I bet you're overdue on your antibiotics, too, huh?"

"I'm fine Danny. I just needed to rest my eyes for a bit."

"Uh huh."

Steve's grip tightens in his and he makes like he's going to get up. "Nuh uh. Nope. You're gonna stay right there. I'm gonna go make you lunch. You're gonna take your antibiotics and your pain meds. Then you're gonna rest some more and you're gonna take tomorrow off. I, of course, am still on vacation."

Steve doesn't stop, though, sitting up on the couch. "I gotta take a piss, Danny. Mind if I do that?"

Danny narrows his eyes at him, but lets him go and stands up, out of the way. "Fine. But you come right back here. Or better yet. Go to bed."

"Yes, dad."

He watches Steve square his shoulders and head upstairs. Danny sighs and goes to the kitchen. Steve's prescriptions are on the island, still in the stapled bag from the drug store. He gets them out, reads the instructions and then puts the water on for coffee. He's gonna need it. The fridge is a mess. Actually, it's mostly empty and most of what's in there doesn't look edible. He manages to put together a plate of crackers and peanut butter and as much of the fruit that he can salvage. It'll do until get can go to the store. He feels a pain in his gut; a niggling thought in the back of his mind.

He's cutting up an apple when the thought materializes.

How he's feeling now? It's gotta be exactly how Steve felt when he, and the rest of the Team, risked everything to get him out of that Colombian jail. When he'd taken Danny, battered and broken in more ways than one, to see the daughter he never thought he'd see again. When Danny had told him that he'd signed those papers because he'd given up; that he deserved everything they were going to do to him; that he just didn't want to feel that guilt and pain anymore. But that, despite all that, he was happy and grateful that Steve had saved his life, threw him a rope to climb out of the hole. And maybe he wasn't all the way out of it yet, but he was on the way there. Because of Steve.

This is exactly how Steve felt when he realized that he'd completely missed how much pain Danny had been in.

The knife crashes into the sink.


	2. The Hurricane

Steve looks at himself in the mirror. He's pale, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep even though sleep is really all he wants. When Danny showed up, he'd been starting to gear himself up to pull himself together in time for work the next morning. Supposing time's run out on that, he pulls out the razor, starts to make himself look presentable, to put on the mask that will show the world he's fine.

All he had before the transplant were his jobs and quite frankly, he didn't think that was enough. Clearly, that was all he deserved, all he was capable of having. It was hard to want something more, but know you didn't deserve it, couldn't have it, weren't capable of holding on to it even if you caught a glimpse of it.

That nothing you could ever do would be enough. That every time you did what was expected of you, it blew up in your face. Why bother trying?

With Catherine, he'd tried to do what he thought was expected, but she'd left him because he wasn't good enough, wasn't what she needed. He joined the Navy, joined the Teams, to make his father proud. It directly led to his father's death. He'd gotten Freddie killed and there were more of his men that he'd lost. Yeah, it was the job they'd all sighed up for, but they'd been _his_ men. He was still responsible. And then there was everything his 5-0 team... Danny... has been through since he'd recruited them.

He just wants to stop hurting the people he loves.

But he can't deny that he's helped people. Except he barely even has that anymore. Now he's lost the Navy and can barely keep up at 5-0. He has to push himself harder to get the job done. To keep Danny safe.

By the time Danny comes into the bedroom carrying a tray with a couple of cups of coffee, a bottle of water and his meds, and a plate of food, Steve's in his usual cargoes and tee, picking up the mess he'd allowed to accumulate. As he dumps an armload of laundry into the hamper, he sees Danny raise an eyebrow and swipe another pile of dirty clothes from the dresser to set the tray down in their place.

They just look at each other for minute until Danny's eyebrow raises even higher and he nods slightly in the direction of the tray, as if to say 'Take your meds.'

Steve sighs and walks over, gathers all the little pills Danny put on the tray and shoves them into his mouth. He's already starting to swallow them dry as he breaks the seal on the water and takes a drink. He raises his own eyebrows – 'happy now, Daniel?' – and Danny nods – 'yes, thank you, Steven'.

The silence gets to be too much for him. Steve picks up a cracker, breaks it in two, puts both halves back on the plate, wipes imaginary crumbs off onto his pants. Trying to fill the space, but not wanting to open his mouth because he's tired, so fucking tired, and this is Danny and he doesn't trust what will come out of it if he does.

"I'm sorry," Danny finally says. Steve frowns at him in confusion. "I had a little revelation over apples. I am so sorry for how I made you feel after you got me back from Colombia. I didn't realize how that made you feel. But now I know. And it's horrible and I don't like it, Steven."

Steve's frown deepens, he shakes his head. "Danny, I don't—"

"But things are better now, you know? I mean, I've got a son now. I may have missed most of his firsts, but I'm here now, right? And if you hadn't done what you did, I never would have known about him. He wouldn't know about me. He could be... he could be dead."

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, remembers the look on Gracie's face when he promised to bring her Danno home. Neither of them had believed his words. It hadn't occurred to him until now that if he'd failed, not only would Gracie have grown up without her Danno, little Charlie might not have grown up at all. He turns away from Danny, takes a few steps toward the unmade bed. He hears Danny follow, stepping on the creaky floor board.

"I hate that I didn't do anything to save Matty. But you were right, he made his own choices. But I was still consumed with so much guilt that I... But you –" He grabs onto Steve's arm like he's the only piece of debris in the ocean of his despair, turns him to face him. "You were the only thing that brought me back from that. And you... after all that, you think I could have just continued on with my life if you died because I didn't do something as simple give you part of my liver?" It's Danny's turn to try and close his eyes against the memories. Steve knows that just makes them worse. He opens them again and they're watering.

"I didn't think giving it to you would end us, but I guess it did. That thought just didn't even enter my mind. All I thought about was that you needed a liver and I had one to give you. I love you, jackass. I would give you anything. And guess what? Even if I'd known that this is how it would go – that we'd be over – I still would still have done this because Grace needs her favourite Uncle around and dammit, Steve, she's lost one of those already. Charlie needs you, even if he doesn't know it yet. Babe, I need you. I need you to be in the world, even if you hate me."

Danny's grip loosens. He runs his hand up and down Steve's arm, then grasps his neck. Steve is still silent, looking anywhere but Danny's eyes.

"Didn't you ever think that every time the words 'take care of my liver' came out of my mouth, I was saying 'take care of my friend'? Because, I've been saying that for six years and it hasn't worked yet. I thought I needed a different tactic."

This is all too much. Steve had wanted to be needed, but he's starting to drown under the weight of Danny's need. Like maybe he's too tired to take what he'd wanted all this time. Be careful what you wish for? He tries to push the weight off.

"My family never needed me. The Navy doesn't need me. The Governor wishes she didn't need me but she does. This is all I've got left. So I'll do whatever I can to protect the island until I die. That's my job."

That iron grip is back, as if Danny could brand his words into Steve's skin, as if that would make Steve listen.

"No, Steven, that is _not_ your job. Your job is to protect the people of this great island and then also go home every night to your family. This family that YOU made – your Ohana. Then you get up and do it all again the next morning and the next and the next until one day you're 65 and you're too old and achy to do the job anymore and you retire. And then you sit on your beach and reminisce about the good old days and tell war stories that you've exaggerated until they couldn't possibly be true anymore and bitch about kids these days and how they have it too easy. _That_ is your job. And maybe, maybe, if you have forgiven me by then, if you let me, I'll be sitting in my chair next to you."

The thought frightens him. Too old to do the job. Fuck if he isn't starting to feel that way already. But when it actually happens? When he doesn't even have his job anymore?

"No, Danny. That's your job, and I'm going to make sure you get all of that. That you can live to see Gracie and Charlie grow up. That you can be happy surrounded by your kids and your grandkids. I'll fight for your dream with my dying breath, Danny."

Danny lets him go, pushes him a little as he does. Steve stumbles a bit and ends up sitting on the bed.

" _You_ make me happy, you fucking idiot! And guess what, asshole. You've got a few other big problems with your plan. First, I don't need your protection, Steven, I just need you to have my back. I'm pretty sure you chose me for your task force because I was actually capable at my job. I'm not a damsel in distress. But, for the sake of this argument, let's just say I am. You think you can protect me when you finally go too far and get yourself killed? You think our dangerous job is suddenly going to be a walk in the park when you're dead? Newsflash, dumbass, it's going to keep being insane and we'll be down a man and our heads won't be in the game because our friend just got himself killed. Not to mention that even if you never speak to me again, I will always have your back. You got that? I will never leave you. I will always follow you into the fire. So if you get yourself killed doing something stupid, I'm gonna be right behind you. Because you deserve to go home each night, too babe. You deserve to retire and have kids running all over your back yard. It's my job to make you believe that. Even if it kills _me_."

Steve stands again, trying to escape the growing panic that wells in him at the thought of Danny, dead... because of him? But it's true isn't it? Danny's always right fucking there. He's always had these confusing, conflicting thoughts... needing to protect Danny and Danny being better off without him. Since the transplant, those thoughts have cycled through his mind faster and now... now they are just like one thought... dannyneedsyouwouldbebetteroffwithoutyouheneedsyou...

He curls his hand into a fist, pulls back to hit something, anything, just to help stop the panic attack he feels coming on. His chest is rising and falling with the panic. He will not have one in front of Danny. Danny grabs his wrist before his fist can connect with the wall. He's saying something , but Steve can't hear him.

The fight has broken through his remaining walls and the ocean starts to flow in and swallow him. Even as he feels like he's drowning, InnerSteve scurries around, trying to pick up the pieces, but there's too much and he's too tired. He can't do it. Not without the help that he was never taught how to ask for. Or he can let the ocean sweep him away. He imagines that. Just like he did the other day. Fantasizes about being swept away, about the ocean taking his pain away, using him for whatever it needs. Danny's wrong. He'll see, he'll be better off without him.

But this time, there's something new in this vision. Danny's calling out to him and, one arm laden with a load of bricks, dives in after Steve, trying to save him. And the ocean takes him, too.

Steve sits back down. He feels Danny's hands on him, trying to soothe him. He hides his face in his hands. He can't let Danny see his tears. Hates anyone seeing how weak he is, but especially Danny. The tears don't listen to him, though, they start to flow anyway. And he's too busy trying to make them stop that he doesn't do anything when he feels Danny step between his legs. His friend wraps his arms around his head, pulls Steve into his body and just holds him, fingers running through his hair, lips pressing to the top of his head. He's silent and still, like he's trying not to spook him, as Steve wraps his arms around him too, clutching to the lifeline.

A/N: Sorry this took so long. This story in the trilogy takes more thought and I've been super busy. This story will be a trilogy within the trilogy, so one more chapter.


	3. Seized Opportunity

Steve woke to darkness. For a moment, as his eyes adjusted, he could almost believe the previous few hours – Danny arriving unexpectedly – was simply a horrible nightmare. He pushed the bed covers down and sat up to turn on the bed-side lamp. The light revealed the half empty bottle of water nearby and a moderately tidied room. Definitely not a nightmare.

"Shit."

So that happened. He really had made a complete ass out of himself in front of Danny. Just what he fucking needed. He wondered for a moment if he could get away with not going into the office in the morning, or ever. Or maybe they'd catch a huge case and that would distract Danny.

Except Danny was more or less un-distractible, especially when it came to reminding Steve about all the stupid shit he'd done.

Steve sighed and then his stomach rumbled. The neighbours were cooking something that smelled amazing, even if the thought of eating right now made him want to puke. Not that it really mattered. He'd forgotten to go shopping again. He was pretty sure all the food he had in the house had been on that plate Danny had made for him.

Although... he didn't remember eating it all – of course, he didn't remember getting into bed, either, for the best rest he'd had in months. Maybe there was still some food left. He should make himself eat something and he could probably handle that. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, closed his eyes, hung his head, took a deep breath. He needed a moment to convince himself to actually get out of the bed and go down the stairs and find some food.

It's what Danny would make him do, after all.

After a moment, he shook his head. Really, what was his problem? He was a fucking SEAL goddammit. "Get after it, jackass," he told himself, like some kind of twisted pep talk. He frowned at himself and stood, flicking off the lamp. Light spilled in under the bedroom door and he used that and his memory of the room and the piles to navigate into the hall.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd even turned the lights on, let alone why he'd leave them on, but as he made his way downstairs, he could see that the entire ground floor was lit up. Perhaps Danny had turned them on before he left. And then he heard the noises from the kitchen. With no weapons on him and a sinking suspicion that he knew the source of the noise, and the delicious smell, Steve approached the kitchen with caution.

Despite pretty much knowing what – or at least who – he would see in the kitchen, he was unable to move farther than the doorway. He watched Danny stir something on the stove. A salad, half-built, was spread across the island. Danny turned around, saw Steve standing there watching him, and smiled.

"Hey! You're awake. How you feeling? And do not lie to me, Steven. I will know. You're due for more pain meds, if you want them. And you are going to eat something. You got me?"

Steve could do nothing more than let the words wash over him, like a familiar blanket. Like the time he'd borrowed his great-grandmother's blanket to make a fort and then got reprimanded for it, because he played too rough and had a habit of destroying things.

"Danny," was all he could manage, his voice small and tentative and he hated the sound of it.

Danny's features softened a bit, then morphed into a goofy smirk.

"What, you thought I'd be gone when you woke up?" Steve answered with a nod. After all, everyone else would have after what he'd done. How many times had his mother wiped his tears away, told him that he needed to pull it together before his father got home? How many times had his dad told him to man up, that big boys didn't cry, that he should be tough like his grandfather, the hero. What would the late Steve McGarrett think of his grandson if he'd seen him like that? And he'd always had to be strong for Mary. And not just because his parents had said it was his job to look out for his litter sister. Uncle Joe and his backslap and Navy talk. And all that was before his mother fake died.

Danny was still talking, like Steve wasn't on the verge of another breakdown as the weight of his responsibility fell on his shoulders again.

"To be honest," Danny was saying, "if you'd come down half an hour ago, you would have been alone. I had to run to the store. Your fridge was a disgrace, let me tell you. Seriously, babe, it was worse than mine was after the divorce." He waved a knife around dangerously as he tried to both cut tomatoes and talk with his hands. "A lot worse actually, considering mine was a least full of beer. Not that we can drink beer right now, of course." He finally paused, as if he was waiting for Steve to join the conversation, snark back at him.

Aside from that crushing weight of responsibility, that grew just by looking at Danny, Steve just couldn't believe his friend was still here. But then... why should he be surprised by that? He ranted and raved and called Steve an animal, but he'd never ever left him.

Something must have shown on his face because Danny finally put the knife down and cocked his head. Steve felt exposed under the scrutiny in a way he hadn't felt since fleeing that talent show stage in defeat and disgrace.

Danny walked around the island and came to stand in front of him. Steve looked down at him, wary, but the longer Danny just watched him, the more Steve actually started to relax under his gaze. It didn't make any sense to him. It didn't make any sense that Danny always stayed. He stayed.

"You stayed."

The blond grasped his bicep, rubbed his thumb across the inked skin. The gentle touch and soft smile diminished the following snark.

"Were you not listening, you Neanderthal? I didn't stay. I went to the grocery store."

"But... you came back... even after..."

"Yeah I did, babe. Of course I did. Seriously, Steven, it's like you don't even know me at all."

Steve couldn't help but chuckle at the familiar banter. Just a few hours ago he'd lost it in front of Danny, made a fool of himself, all but ignored him for weeks before that, but nothing had really changed.

"I know everything about you, Danno."

"Uh huh. Yet I can still surprise you." He ran his hand up and down his arm once, patted Steve's dark sleeve, and turned back to continue preparing the meal.

Steve's legs finally decided to work and he followed Danny into the room, sitting on a stool at the island opposite his friend. He reached over to grab a piece of pineapple from the salad bowl. Danny rapped his knuckles with the flat of the knife blade.

"What's with the salad, Danny? You only eat those when Grace makes your lunch. And pineapple? Maybe I should be worried about _you_."

"This salad is for you, dumbass."

Steve took a closer look at the pots and dishes strewn around the kitchen. Two pots on the stove with spaghetti and meat sauce, the salad, a foil-covered baking sheet with cheesy garlic bread waiting for the oven. A spaghetti dinner, Williams-style. It was the meal he made for Grace whenever she was feeling sad.

Danny looked up, studied Steve's face a bit longer, turned his attention back to the tomatoes that he was finishing up and putting into the bowl. Or so Steve thought.

"What's going on in that thick head of yours, McGarrett?"

Steve chewed on the inside of his lip, deciding on if, or how, to answer. _Fuck it_ , he thought. Danny would either stand by him and help him, or he really would leave. At this point, Steve would take either option over how he was feeling now. He would find happiness, or he could attempt to rebuilt that wall he'd constructed under the tutelage of the McGarretts and the Navy.

"I'm sorry, Danny."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"'Everything' is a lot of things, Steven. Care to be more specific?"

"I mean it – everything. I'm sorry for everything you've been through since you met me." _I'm sorry for completely losing it on you today_ , he thought to himself.

"Hmm, everything, huh?" He turned off the burners and rounded the island again, almost stalking the taller man. "Everything like being my best friend? Like putting up with my own shit? Like helping me through everything with Matty? With Colombia? Being so amazing with Grace and now Charlie? _I'm_ sorry, Steve, your apology is not accepted."

He grabbed the back of Steve's neck, making sure he had his undivided attention.

"I'll do everything I can to prove to you how much I love you, that I'll never leave you."

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Danny."

"Clearly I do."

"No, Danny, I—"

"No, you know what? You're right. I don't have to prove it. You already know I love you. You know I'll never leave you. What I need to prove to you is the one thing you refuse to accept: You deserve to be loved. You absolutely do _not_ deserve to have the people that claim to love you make you doubt their love for you."

Steve closed his eyes, rested his forehead against Danny's, even if he tried to fight it for a moment. "I haven't done anything to deserve you, Danny."

"That's a load of shit, Steven. I can't even list all the ways that is not true. But even if you hadn't done a thing, babe... you are you. That's all you need to deserve love." Danny paused for a moment, letting that sink in as he scratched lightly at Steve's hairline, tried to smooth out the frown lines.

"Babe, you are going through even more shit than usual right now. You were bound to crack eventually. When I did, I let myself get hauled off to Colombia. And you brought me back from that, back to my Monkey. Not just from South America, but from the darkness. I've been climbing out of that thanks to you and Grace, and now Charlie.

"I am very happy that I do not need to track you down to some God forsaken country to haul your ass back, but I'm still gonna be here for you. You can't get rid of me. You got that? Because I've lost people, too, McGarrett, and it sucks. I'm not saying that to belittle what you're feeling. I'm just saying... I can't lose you, too."

Steve held on to Danny's arms hard enough to bruise, let out a long, slow breath, and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. He would never let Danny flounder if he knew something was wrong, if he could help, even a little bit. Steve would do anything to make him happy. And he was starting to realize that letting Danny help _him_ would not only make Danny happy, but help him finish climbing out of that dark pit.

And maybe, on the other side, Steven could finally be happy, too. Maybe for the first time in his entire life. With Danny.

After all, that was pretty much all he'd wanted for the last six years.

His grip lightened, the tension in his body began to seep away. Danny pulled him closer.

"That's right, babe. I've got ya."


End file.
